Afternoon Tea
by Lelattha
Summary: Probably one of the worst titles I could have come up with--please, give me a better one! It's just a little fluffy Crowziraphale slash piece. Emphasis on little and fluffy


A/N:  Just a little bit of Good Omens slash!   Rather fluffy also, but don't come complaining to me if you thought it didn't involve our two favorite non-humans and kissing.  Don't worry, I like to burn math teachers with the flames I get, so if you happen to be both homophobic AND mathematically inclined…or maybe just homophobic…don't read this.  It's a waste of your time.  If you DO happen to like Crowziraphale slash, read on!  And don't forget the pretty review box at the end of the show!

Crowley prodded at the cake crumbs on his plate, glancing up every now and then at the angel sitting across from him.  Aziraphale hadn't eaten more than half his cake; a waste of a good eight pounds, thought Crowley ruefully.  Although _he_ was having fun, pushing the crumbs this way and that in an attempt to make a primitive replica of Mount Vesuvius. 

            'Did no one ever tell you not to play with your food?' said Aziraphale peevishly.

            'Not a soul,' Crowley cheerfully replied.  Aziraphale frowned at him.

            'Well, I'm telling you now—don't play with your food.  Eat it in a civilized manner.'

            'No,' said Crowley with a smile.  Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

            'They would have done better sending you here as a child, Crowley.  Your manners could definitely use a polishing.'

            'So they could.'  Mount Crumb-Vesuvius spouted little gouts of water, and Crowley sighed at it.  He'd been hoping for blood or at least wine; plain water ruined the effect and it wasn't like he could start over now.  He tried changing the water's colour, frowning.  It turned a feeble yellowish pink for a few moments, then lapsed back into its original clarity.  

            'Remarkably disappointing, considering you've been picking at the damn thing for nearly half an hour,' Aziraphale commented. 

            'Half an hour?  Really?'

            'Just so.'

            Crowley glanced at his watch.  'Well, I've an appointment in about forty-five minutes, so you can't be staying so much longer.'

            Aziraphale shrugged.  'I wasn't…particularly planning to.'  He frowned again.  'What are you going to do to _this _unfortunate fellow?'

            'Well…I, er…I was thinking of making his car implode.'

            The angel shook his head and attempted a chuckle.  'You just can't stand the fact that the Bentley got ruined, can you?'

            'It was the best car I ever owned!'

            'It was the _only_ car you've ever owned.'

            'Don't change the subject,' snapped Crowley.  'It didn't _deserve _what happened to it, that's all I'm saying.'

            'I've quite a few acquaintances who would disagree with you.'

            Crowley decided that he ought to change the subject himself.  He glanced at his watch again.  'What brings you over here, anyway?  You told me you had something to say to me.'

            'I do have something to say to you.'

            Crowley waited expectantly, but Aziraphale had fallen oddly silent and was running his finger around the rim of his cup.  Crowley decided to help him out.  'Yes?'

            This did not have the intended effect.  'Be patient,' Aziraphale snapped, looking up for a moment as an irritated look swept across his face.  Then his gaze dove back down into his tea.  

            Crowley did end up being patient, for an entire five minutes.  Then he sighed.  

            'I can't just sit here waiting for you to say something, Aziraphale.'

            'I know.'

            Crowley waited for a further thirty seconds, tapping his fingers on the underside of the table and wondering if he should retrieve the angel's cake and start taking it apart when Aziraphale opened his mouth again.

            'Sometimes,' he said quietly, 'you try to say things, but—you can't.  You just—'

            He stood, shoving the unfinished tea forward and started for the door.  Crowley hurriedly pushed back his chair and took the angel by the arm.

            'Where are you going?'

            Aziraphale tugged against him, but the demon held fast, turning him around so they were facing.  'What's gotten into you?' Crowley demanded.  Aziraphale wouldn't meet his gaze.  'Why can't you say anything?  It's so—unlike you.'

            'Maybe so,' said Aziraphale.  He was still half-heartedly trying for the door.

            'You aren't going anywhere,' said Crowley firmly, 'until I get some sort of an answer.'

            'I told you, there are just some things—'

            'I don't give a damn.  Stop prancing and pushing about, Aziraphale, and give me a good idea of what's going through your head.'

            'I can't.'

            'Show me what you're thinking!  You have to be thinking _something,_ I won't just attribute it to th—'

            Aziraphale jerked upward and kissed him squarely on the mouth, sliding one hand firmly around the back of Crowley's head as he tried to pull away in surprise.  Aziraphale pressed closer; Crowley's lips parted naturally and allowed his tongue to slide out into the angel's mouth as his hands pushed against narrow hips.

            His appointment could wait, Crowley decided.


End file.
